


The Darkest Star

by FeartheTalon



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Angst, Art, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood, Character Death, Child Death, Chiss, Chiss Politics, Chiss culture, Civil War, Depression, Disability, Dissociation, Duty, Dysfunctional Relationships, Eli is actually useful, Emotional Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Engineers engineering, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Female Friendship, Flashbacks, Force Ghosts, Force Lore, Force Technology, Force science, Games, Geniuses actually being competent, Genocide, Hurt/Comfort, Implants, Infant Death, Injury Recovery, Insanity, Interspecies Relationship(s), Lightsabers, Make Them Suffer, Mass Murder, Massacres, Mental Abuse, Mind Games, Mitth family, Multi, Murder, Mutilation, Nightmares, Older Characters, POV Child, POV Multiple, PTSD, Physical Abuse, Psychological Warfare, Questionable ethics, Romance, Sabotage, Scarring, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Harassment, Shirtless Thrawn workout scenes, Sith, Sith Artifacts, Snarky Droids, Soap Opera, Star Wars History, Stranger in a Strange Land, Strong Female Characters, Suicide, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, Thrawn waxing poetical about aesthetics, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unknown Regions, War, Wild Space, and not just a Thrawn extension, backstabbing, characters older than 30, chess references, clandestine makeout sessions, drama queen Thrawn, experimenting on people, force possession, geniuses trying to outplay each other, no fucks given, political machinations, unreliable narrators, villains doing evil things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeartheTalon/pseuds/FeartheTalon
Summary: When Grand Admiral Thrawn is ordered by the Emperor to escort imperial servant Anaya Talaran into the Unknown Regions for undisclosed reasons, he knows he can only be walking into a trap. No matter, sometimes walking into a trap is the best strategy.Thrawn quickly realizes that in Talaran he finally may have met his match. As his carefully laid plans come to fruition, disaster threatens to undo all he has ever sacrificed.Sometimes, the past does come back to haunt you.**AU for Rebels Season 4**





	1. Top Board

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, this story deals with a lot of heavy topics (refer to the tags/warnings for more details). Basically, if you are triggered by anything, this might not be the story for you. The main characters are two villians with questionable morality. I did not include the rape/non-con tag, but there is sexual harassment and very intense violation of personal space. If you only want to see Thrawn in a position of superiority, of victory, this isn't the story for you. This is an angsty political soap opera romance about loyalty, duty and family. 
> 
> Again, AU for Rebels season 4, because I hated it, and was working on this long before.
> 
> All my love to Lightrain-09, OddChelonian and VirgilVirgilVirgil for their support and help.

_Everything was Krel’s fault._

Today, they were supposed to be on their best behavior. Representatives on behalf of House Mitth were visiting their small planetoid all the way from Copero. Father said these people were _important_ and that they had to be _careful_ , and of course, Tiru, being the dutiful elder daughter she was, followed Father’s every word to the letter.

Her younger brother was another matter altogether.

He had escaped the house sometime after morning meal, probably on some mission to catch falla lizards or climb trees or to visit his friend, Pas. He wasn’t in any of his usual haunts and Tiru did not have time for this childish nonsense. She was 11 years old, almost grown. The Off-worlder ships were arriving today, and her father was allowing her the honor to help unload them for the inspection. All her brother had to do was sit in the house and stay out of the way.

_Why couldn’t he ever be where he needed to be?_

As the sun inched its way across the sky, her desperation multiplied. So, she asked her curse where he was. As always, it gave her an answer.

She was going to strangle him.

 ***

 

Tiru peered through the foliage to see where her brother sat shoulder to shoulder next to a barbarian off-worlder. The off-worlder vaguely resembled one of the People, but his face was ugly like the inside of a clam and his hair was the color of dying leaves. He was looking down at Krel’s hands. _Is he teaching him how to play the counting game with a piece of string?_ The Barbarian smiled at her brother with his teeth showing. She had seen her father deal with enough outsider aliens to know that he was not going to eat him or that this was not an aggressive gesture, but it still set her on edge. Krel did not seem to mind.

Tiru would mind, if he looked at her with those bleached eyes.

She felt the voices before they arrived. Two men of the people. She watched them pick a spot and crouch. They were carrying charrics on their hips. The one further away unslung his bag, opened it and started to assemble a larger charric.

“The Aristocra does not like what is going on here,” he said as he attached a tube to the top of the charric. “Ar’alani overstepped her authority, this time. Bringing a hyu’mn into Chiss space. Remaining in contact with an exile. That’s one who should be stripped of her command.”

“Hush. This grumbling is inconsequential. Take care of the hyu’mn,” the other replied gesturing with his chin.

They looked towards where her brother sat beside the alien. 

“Can you get a clear shot?”

He held up the charric and squinted through the tube on top. “The child is too close. I might hit it.”

“An unfortunate casualty. Sometimes allowances must be made.”

They were talking about her brother.  She was too far away to warn him to move.

Tiru did the one thing her father said she should never do. She panicked.

She clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms, not enough to break the calloused skin, but sharp enough to pinch. Her fear for her brother did the rest. It was enough. 

Her senses ignited, the world sharpened. The connection to the curse was easier to feel in the Chiss than in the charric. She started with the one holding the gun.

His hands scrambled for his throat as he fought for air. The charric dropped to the ground. His companion stumbled about, confused until he spotted her. He waved his charric, and the curse and common sense told Tiru if she did not move, now, she would die. 

She was not even a woman grown. She was not ready to die. So, she ran, dodging through the brush, letting the curse guide her movement.

"KREL! RUN!"

The noise was enough to startle Krel and the Outsider. They stood and looked around. The outsider unholstered his charric. They watched her approach.

“Sister, what…”

“Run you idiot! They’re trying to kill the hyu’mn.”

The hyu’mn’s odd eyes widened. He surveyed the terrain. Charric bolts rang out and Tiru managed to duck behind a tree, her chest shaking. The hyu’man had the same idea. He shielded Krel with his body and backed up into cover. There was a loud crack as a bolt blasted the tree. Bark dust littered her hair. She yelped as another shot singed her sleeve. 

The hyu’mn fired, the red lasers of his blaster whirred by her head, the Chiss with the long charric collapsed in a heap.

_Where is the other?_ She reached out... _No…_

Another loud crack rang in her ears, and the hyu’man made a surprised sound. Tiru spun to look. Her brother fell over into the dirt. His body lay there unmoving, his eyes wide, but unseeing.  

When she was eight, she had found a ksk’purr with eyes like that. Mother had told her That meant he was dead. She was old enough to know what dead meant.

Rage filled her. _Take care of your brother_ , mother had always reminded her. _You are eldest_. _He is your responsibility_. Images of him danced in her head: his laughter as he hung upside down from a tree as she scolded him, him sneaking her fresh pauwla fruit when she had erred and been sent to her room without supper… They had sat side by side, juice on their chins and hands.

She had called him an idiot.

She was crying now. Another failure. She had failed in every single way. 

Her brother was dead. She would make them dead too.

She crushed his skull first. Blood ran red as it contracted as if it had been stuck in a compactor. Crunching sounds filled the air as the bones in the rest of the body followed. The neck snapped, what was left of the head dangled. She pushed and pushed until the body indented a full foot into the dirt. His Ankle bones snapped as she drove him down. 

"Youngling," the Barbarian said, in the trader’s tongue. His voice was not soft like a Chiss voice, and the words were awkward in his mouth, but his eyes held gentleness.

It was then she realized she had been screaming. Her palms were leaking blood.

The barbarian's face was full of fear, but he had not run. Had not flown at her in disgust like any proper Chiss would do in this situation. Instead he was almost studying her. Waiting. By all accounts they had come here to kill him. She should kill him too. But he had protected Krel. Had killed the other man. 

He knelt and closed her brother's eyes. Straightened his limbs. He shouldn't be touching Krel, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Couldn't bring herself to look at him directly.  He placed his jacket over her brother's body. He stood and put her hand on her shoulder.

"What is your name? Where are your parents?"

"Tiru," she managed to whisper.

"Vanto'eli, we are coming! Back away from the demon for your own safety."

Two women walked towards them dressed in burgundy and gray clothing fancier than anything Tiru had ever seen. Behind them were armed guards. The soldiers stamped down the path and surrounded them.

The hyu’man named Vanto'eli looked at her, confused. "Did they just call you a demon?"

"They're right."

“Step away Vanto’eli,” the shorter woman snapped as she approached. Her voice and posture were as sharp as a vibroknife. “You do not know what she is.”

“What I think she is, is a scared kid.”

She closed in on them until her toes touched Vanto’eli’s "This is a Chiss concern, Vanto'eli. Your opinion is neither valid nor wanted." 

“I think it’s my concern when I’m shot at by some of your people. I owe Tiru my life.”

“You would not have been attacked if you had remained with us, instead of sneaking off like some smuggler.”

“I wanted to see what you weren’t telling me for myself.”

The woman hissed as if Vanto’eli had slapped her. “If we were not in the aftermath of an assassination attempt I would challenge you here on behalf of myself and house Mitth. How dare you impugn our honor after we offer you our hospitality. I don’t care what ----”

The taller woman, who had crouched beside the more intact man spoke, “Fellow Syndic, I believe this man is a member of Csapla.” Her voice was calmer than water from a fountain.

The shorter Syndic said a word that would have earned Tiru ten lashes of her father's belt.

“Now it seems we will have to cut our visit short. We will soon have a diplomatic incident on our hands.”

The tall Syndic gracefully rose to her feet. “Syndic Mitth’eri’safis. I am familiar with the Csapla.  Allow me to return to Csilla. I apologize that I will have to leave you to control the issue here.”

Syndic Mitth’eri’safis nodded. Without another word, the tall Syndic left.

“Now Vanto’eli, I insist you must let us deal with this. We are not barbarians. She will not be executed, but she must be contained. There are protocols and laws that must be followed.”

Tiru raised her head and looked into the Syndic’s eyes. The were the same color as her brother’s. She wanted to vomit, but she held herself still and straight, as one of the people should. “If I go with you, will my brother get a proper burial? A kite? Will my parents be safe?”

“My own staff will make sure your brother is afforded all honors. He died in service to a guest of House Mitth. As for your parents…” For a moment the Syndic looked as if she was being crushed by a heavy weight. Her voice softened. “They’ve done both you and my house a great disservice, youngling. I make no promises, but I will try my best.”

“I will go with you then,” Tiru replied.

Vanto’eli stepped forward, his mouth open to protest. Tiru skirted around him.

“Don’t Vanto’eli. I know my place and my duty.”

This was Tiru’s fault. She had always known she was cursed. There was only one way to deal with monsters like her. Exile.

 ***

 

 

“She’s awake sir,” Lieutenant Rhyder said as Thrawn entered the detention block, “Still a little bit out of it. She’s been talking gibberish though. Keeps asking for a droid.”

_Perfect._ The Emperor’s agent was conscious enough to answer questions but disoriented enough to possibly let more slip than she should. The Emperor and his advisors had ordered her tossed her upon the Chimaera, without Thrawn’s approval. Thrown her aboard his ship with the words still echoing in his mind, _a traitor to the Empire_.

Thrawn thanked Lieutenant Rhyder, then stepped inside the cell. The Lieutenant followed him, and the door shut behind them.

The woman slouched against the bench was a shadow of what he had pictured. The image in her file had been of a woman with the short, muscled build of a person from a high gravity world. Her round, sanguine face had made her seem more than a decade younger than her age of thirty- five standard years. Now, the left side of her head had been burned even up into the scalp; her ear reduced to a stub of pink wax. Jagged purple-gray lines, much like the ones he had spotted on Advisor Tashu radiated across her ashen face. Thrawn had no idea how a person in her condition would be able to conduct a mission. She needed at least six more months in an infirmary.

At their entrance, she sat up straighter. Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted at Thrawn as if she were looking directly into the sun. Her dark hair fell forward to shield her face.

“Anaya Talaran. I am Grand Admiral Thrawn and you are aboard the ISS Chimaera. Whether you are treated as an Imperial enemy or a member of my crew is dependent on your cooperation.”

It took her a minute, but she staggered to her feet. Rhyder tensed beside him and he held up a hand to stay her.

Talaran inclined her head and spoke. “Warlord Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Our meeting is finally satisfaction. Your maps helped my travels.” She just managed to slump on to the bench without tumbling over.

“Ugh, that was horrible.” She chuckled hoarsely.

Thrawn narrowed his eyes. Her slurred voice struggled with the words and her grammar was archaic, as if she had been reciting Chir’ankh’ano’s _Seven Virtues_ , but her words were Cheunh **.**

He gestured to the Lieutenant. “Leave us.”

As the door shut behind Rhyder, Thrawn used his code cylinder to shut off the cameras. He looked back at Acolyte Talaran. Her dark eyes were still tight with pain, but not glazed with it. She watched him, her gaze flickered to his face, his hands, his throat. _Even in her state, she desires to test me. Intriguing._

“Your greeting was adequate. The phrasing could use more accuracy, but it was understandable.” He switched to Sy Bisti, “How did you learn it?”

Her face split open in a grin with too many shattered teeth. “Oh, no Admiral, I’m not the type of girl who gives it all up, at least not without dinner first.” She spoke Sy Bisti as if she had been born to it. She leaned forward, her arms braced on her knees. “Now, _where is my droid_?”

_This_ was the woman from her file. An inaugural enlister to the Imperial Survey corps. Many in the Imperial Navy looked down upon the ISC, but they were fools **.** Due to its propensity to form small, tight knit crews during its sojourns into unexplored space, the ISC fostered soldiers that were exceptional on many fronts. By twenty-two years of age she had been transferred to the little-known Imperial Reclamation Service, had been awarded the Emperor’s Will, and with that, swaths of redactions littered her record. She had been grounded in her early thirties for sustaining serious injuries, and shortly after had been branded a terrorist, and traitor to the Empire. The rest of her file had contained sightings, followed by a notation of her capture and most curiously, a notice of her execution without trial three months ago. She was not to be underestimated.

“My technicians are looking the droid over.”

“They’re wasting both my time and theirs.”

The droid had appeared in most of the notations in her file, and Thrawn had gone out of his way to examine it himself. Droids were foreign to his people, and when he had first joined the Empire he had spent his extra credits on droids and had disassembled and reassembled them to learn more about them.  Talaran’s droid was built like an assassin or a sentry droid, bipedal and tall.  It was an amalgamation of disparate parts, both new and antique. It lacked the sleekness of modern design but was still aesthetically pleasing in shades of green and gold, or at least the droid had been until his chassis had been torn apart. Even odder was the cortosis fiber contained inside the main body of the chassis. More had been installed in the droid’s arm and leg segments. Analysis of the core showed that its operating language was different than anything he or his crew had ever encountered.

“My crew will be able to study and repair your droid with little difficulty.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If you had someone able to do it properly, I wouldn’t be on this ship.”

“Do you know why you are on this ship?” He would be surprised if she had known she was on a star destroyer until she had been woken.

She snorted and sat back. “Do you?”

“According to Emperor Palpatine and Advisor Tashu we are to retrieve artifacts of utmost importance to the Empire. He expects hostilities, so we are required to join you. They chose my fleet because of my knowledge of the Unknown Regions.”

 “And you believed them?”

“Not entirely,” Thrawn replied. “I do not know what type of artifact would need an entire fleet for recovery when a single ship would do. If facing opposition, a smaller group would be better for stealth. You are apparently aware of the map of the Unknown Regions I completed for the Emperor, so my further input is unnecessary. You are also not in a physical state to do much of anything. I do not appreciate being torn away from warring against the rebels to serve as a glorified convoy for an invalid.”

 She shook her head. “We’re being punished, Grand Admiral.”

He recalled the Emperor’s words to him: _You are conflicted Grand Admiral. You would rather be in the middle of things, handling these squabbles with the rebels, and I applaud you for your patriotism. Would it put you more at ease if I allow you to take the 7 th fleet and that you may deal with any acts of aggression you meet in the Unknown Regions as you see fit?_

Thrawn had heard the words the Emperor did not voice. _You may return to your people and you may use my personnel to secure their protection._ Hearing those words while standing in that shimmerstone courtyard had filled Thrawn with unease, now dread replaced it.

“You have been tortured for destroying an Imperial Military installation. Are you implying that it wasn’t enough? I wonder why he did not just execute you.”

“He could have, but then he’d be further away from what he wants.”

“And what does the Emperor want?”

“The same as any man, I suppose,” she replied.

“Which is?”

“Tell me Admiral, have you ever heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?”

“I have not. Are you implying that the Emperor is a Jedi?”

 “Admiral, it isn’t a story the Jedi would tell you.” A smile oozed across her face.  “You haven’t been paying attention to any of the games being played, have you? This is going to be delightful.”

He stepped closer to Talaran until he loomed over her. “I will not be toyed with. By neither you nor the Emperor. You will tell me what games you are playing.”

She met his stare unflinching. “Don’t think I haven’t realized you never guaranteed my safety in the way that your people are wont to do.”

Once Thrawn had thought Eli Vanto had been a spy. He had been mistaken. This was a spy _. No--- a spy would try to hide. This is a threat._ A threat that could do enough damage that she didn’t mind teasing him. Why would she fear him? Talaran had suffered through torture so severe that there was very little he could threaten her with that would be worse. Thrawn knew now, she had not just been tortured for her actions, but also so she could be placed here and act as she willed without fear.

This woman who after countless crews and probe droids had been reported lost, had traversed deep into the Unknown Regions and come back alive. Who knew things she had no business knowing about his culture and his people. Who stated things not simply with confidence, but as a matter of fact.

She noticed the change in his face. “I have been told you are one of the brightest stars of the Empire, Grand Admiral. Do you know what I am yet?”

She was his punishment.

Thrawn was no fool. The Emperor had underestimated him. So, apparently, had this woman. He would give them what they wanted for now. Thrawn would make use of the Emperor’s gift and then he would watch as his plans unfurled around them.

 


	2. Unorthodox Opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get fifty shades of Thrawn: mastermind Thrawn, art fan Thrawn, passive-aggressive Thrawn, creeper Thrawn, total dork Thrawn and perhaps Thrawns we never knew existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks as always to Lightrain-09, Virgilvirgilvirgil and OddChelonian.
> 
> I write with songs stuck in my head on a loop. The one for this chapter was 'Rage and Romance' by Bressie

Anaya Talaran didn’t know if hours or days had passed since she had spoken to Grand Admiral Thrawn. She had been dragged from the detention block to the infirmary. She thought it naïve of them to do so without her being put under supervision, but then again, it had taken every iota of energy to keep her mind focused and her words unslurred while she spoke to Thrawn. The Chiss people valued honor and strength. She needed to appear strong and aware… well, as strong as she could under the circumstances. Until she had him figured out, he would be considered a potential threat. Once she was out of his direct line of sight, her body demanded rest. She was issued sedatives and every time she woke, the med droid disconnected her from her nutrient tubes and drowned her in bacta.

As her body knit itself together, the dreams returned. Sometimes of purple forks of lightning arched through her body. Sometimes she remembered the stench of her own flesh cooking; her face pressed against red hot metal, Tashu in his red mask hovered above her right ear and whispered atrocities as her other ear melted. He shouldn’t have bothered, she couldn’t hear him over the sound of her own screams.

This time when she woke screaming, an ISB officer stood beside her bed, picking up her hat off the floor. The imperial was beautiful in a long-limbed way, with features that seemed too delicate for Imperial service. Her golden-brown skin glowed in her white uniform. Her face was surrounded by a corona of hair a shade lighter than her skin. She had been the officer with Thrawn for the first few minutes of her questioning.

“Good morning--- Or evening as it were,” the ISB officer said. She had a lyrical outer rim accent and spoke quickly, without pausing for breath. “I’m Lieutenant Rhyder, the Chimaera’s loyalty officer.” She jammed the hat back on her head. _How did all that hair fit in there?_ “You got a good swing there. You knocked my hat off my head with all your flailing.” The Lieutenant grinned at her.

“I’m… sorry?” Anaya replied.

“I’m here to take you to the fresher. The good ones with hot water. The ones in this section are sonics. Do you think you can walk? The Docs say your implant should be stable by now.”

_Implant? Krif._

Anaya concentrated. The electrodes hummed. She traced her ear, or what was left of it, with her fingers. She could feel the incision and the faint texture of wires under the skin. _Say yes. It’ll give you a chance to scope out the ship._

Anaya plastered on a weak smile. “For a hot shower? Definitely.”

She stagger-wobbled the ten-minute walk to the refreshers on Rhyder’s arm. Apparently, her legs had been replaced with thermogel and she no longer had a sense of balance. The implant would adjust soon enough. She would tolerate it for now; she needed a full account of the severity of her injuries before she removed it. Now, one shot from an ion blaster and she’d be toast. She could imagine B-0BB making fun of her. _Master, please desist with horrible sound! Your meat organs are sloshing around more than usual!_

Stars, she missed him. She felt empty without the flash of his bright, bulky presence at her shoulder, but predominantly she feared for him. _Where is he? What state is he in? Is he still intact? What’s his condition? Severely damaged, or was he deactivated because he killed someone he wasn’t supposed to?_ The memories of her capture lay behind a static filled haze.

When they arrived at the freshers, Rhyder peeled off Anaya’s soiled garment and helped her into the shower.

“I’ll be fine,” Anaya said as she waved the other woman off.

Rhyder gave her a skeptical look. “All right. I’ll be right out here. Shout if you need anything.”

It took three run throughs of the timer to scrub the smell of bacta off her body. For the last run, her legs trembled so hard she was forced to sit down on the floor of the shower. She pressed her forehead to her knees and let the water beat against her.

She needed to carve her plans, target resources. She couldn’t wait too long, even if she felt half dead. The Emperor expected results. Her initial experiments with Thrawn seemed fruitful. He had lost his composure with a bit of goading. Not enough to be noticeable to human eyes, but she was no stranger to Chiss composure. He had been nervous, angry, possibly even afraid. The use of Cheunh had garnered the largest reaction. He had been so threatened he turned off the security cameras, so he could what? Hide his language? Conceal information about his people? Beat her into a pulp?

The man had no idea about anything outside his star destroyer. _Jedi._ She snorted _. Honestly_.  He had also had no idea of the information he could garner from her. The thing was, neither did she. The Emperor had pulled it out her mind like it was made of salt taff. Some things danced in her head, but fuzzy, half formed. She would have to fake it until she healed.

She managed to find her feet again and stood under the blower until she was reasonably dry. She scrambled to the sink and gripped its edge. She grimaced in the mirror. _You should be thankful_. The warped flesh on her face as well as the wounds on her upper body would be great additions to her scar collection. The burning hadn’t reached her eye, so her sight wasn’t hindered. Her teeth had been fixed while she had been unconscious. At least what was left of her hair was vomit free.

Oh well. She had never been pretty--- even on her best days, she’d always thought she looked like an Ugnaught with boobs.

She concentrated on that thought, because otherwise tears would claim her. She laughed hysterically until Lt. Rhyder popped her head in the door. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Anaya replied in between breaths. “I’m just picturing an Ugnaught with an amazing rack.” She started laughing again.

“Come on then.”

Rhyder winced as she helped Anaya put on clothing. Even with muscle atrophy, the gray imperial uniform fit awkwardly, too long and too snug across her legs and hips. The boots were even more impossible. She kept her infirmary slippers on.

“They’re just scars, you know. They’re not contagious.”

“Oh, no! I’m just afraid of hurting you!”

“It’s all right.” Anaya shook her head. It would take more than a little bump to hurt her.

The walk back seemed longer. They weren’t returning to the infirmary. The implant began to acclimate; Anaya felt her sense of balance return enough to concentrate on something more than putting one foot in front of the other. She surveyed her surroundings and made note of anything interesting.

“Lieutenant Rhyder?”

“Hmm?”

“That patch. What’s the insignia? I’ve never seen it before.” In fact, several of the crew sported pauldrons or arm patches with an abstract design. Whatever would-be artist that designed it had hideous taste.

“It’s a chimaera. To represent the 7th fleet. All the officers and droids have a choice to wear one. You should see the design on the bottom of this ship. It would make a wicked tattoo.”

This felt wrong. Even the loyalty officer sported a badge of loyalty to the fleet, and not the Empire as a whole. Some of the reasoning behind The Grand Admiral’s punishment became clear.

As they walked, the corridors grew emptier and emptier, but the number of cameras and officer ports increased, an off-regulation arrangement. The cameras were probably on different circuits, a nuisance, but easily bypassed. The difference in wiring would delay a technician trained in the uniformity of star destroyer repair for a few seconds while they gained their bearings. A few seconds would mean the difference between essential subroutines completing to her satisfaction or not. She noted a particularly good spot. Soon, they reached a door manned by a lone stormtrooper.

Rhyder handed over her code cylinder. “Grand Admiral Thrawn is expecting us.”

 _Close to the Grand Admiral’s office? Even better._ Anaya pushed her shoulders back and stood a little straighter. _Strength. Fortitude_. _Remember the Emperor’s orders… remember what will happen if you don’t obey._ She was so concerned with her impression, that she almost missed the song.

_Almost._

The trooper handed back the cylinder and the door behind him slid open revealing a dimly lit hallway. Pedestals lined the corridor and upon each lay an object, a chalice of Duum, An Isilian obelisk…

“Son of a gundaark…” Anaya toddled past Lieutenant Rhyder to the pedestal closest to the far door. On its own stand was a lightsaber. She stuck her face as close as she could to it. Tried to stand on the tips of her toes to see inside it.  She walked around it and examined it at all angles. “Red.” The Khyber sang in her head. She could feel its rage, its power beckoning. It felt… familiar…. and even more alarming, it felt _right. No, no it can’t be…_

“This isn’t really the time…”

“Do you know what this is?”

“Looks like a lightsaber. Didn’t the Jedi use those?”

“It’s not Jedi in origin.” She circled her finger in the air around the emitter. “The shape of this along with the heavily patterned hand grip tell me this is very old. Great Galactic War era even.” She hadn’t been this excited in ages. She knew the age of the lightsaber and was fairly certain who it belonged to. … _Take it. Take what is yours…_

“You’re almost hyperventilating. Your breath is forming fog.” Lieutenant Rhyder sounded more worried than anything. “It’s always freezing in the Grand Admiral’s office.  I swear he does it so people don’t stay long…. _What are you doing on the floor_?”

Pain forgotten, Anaya had dropped to her knees, to try to get a better look at the underside of the lightsaber. Her fingers curled scant centimeters below it. She only half heard Rhyder.

“His home world is going through an Ice Age,” she replied without thinking. “He probably prefers the cold.”

“Anaya Talaran is correct,” a soft voice replied. Anaya looked up to see Thrawn standing next to her, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched her with mild amusement. “Lieutenant, your thoughts?”

“She still needs a lot of time for healing. She either has no concept of military protocol, or completely disregards it. Even though she is severely injured, she shows increased tolerance to pain. She approaches others with good humor. She has a laser-like focus, and when she is interested in something she loses track of her periphery. She’s strange as you can see Sir, but I like her so far,” Lieutenant Rhyder replied. “I agree to keep working with her.”

Anaya looked at Rhyder. “What the...”

Thrawn nodded. “Thank you. I shall keep your observations in mind. You may go.”

“Sir.” With an abrupt about-face, Lieutenant Rhyder turned and left.

“I have had many people in this hallway, but none in my memory, have been brought to their knees by my collection.” He spoke with a slow, almost soothing, cadence. He held out his hand to her. She took it. It felt like a block of ice in her palm. She took a while to get steady on her feet, but he waited without comment.

“Thank you, Admiral.” Her head barely came up to his chest and she had to tilt her head far back to look him in the eye. “You have a superb selection of pieces.” Anaya spotted something, and bent, almost losing her balance, to look past him. “Oh, an Ooinu focus! I didn’t get to see that. I was too distracted by the lightsaber.”

“I find it hard to believe that in your line of work, you have never seen a lightsaber before.”

“Oh, I have, but they’re all different. Traditionally the Khyber crystals that power lightsabers were mined by Force-sensitive apprentices. The crystals resonate at different frequencies. Particular frequencies would attract certain apprentices. I like to hold lightsabers and think about the person who chose the crystal inside. Each time I see a new lightsaber it’s like meeting a new person.”

“You can sense these crystals, I presume?”

“In a way. You don’t have to have affinity to the force to notice them. Even without a power source, the crystals themselves emit a low amount of energy. Some species’ hearing is within range and can pick up the sound of the vibration. It’s like a low hum, sometimes even a song.”

“Was the Emperor using you to find Khyber in the Unknown Regions?”

She could hear First Mother’s voice in her head _. Stupid girl._ Her eyes snapped to his. His hand still engulfed hers. She stepped back from him and he let her palm slide from his. She had gotten so excited talking about technology that she had let more slip than she had wanted to. She couldn’t blame this all on the pain medication the med droid had given her.

“Not primarily, but I was to keep an eye out and report back.”

“I do have more to see in my office,” He replied as if nothing was amiss. “Pieces, I think, that will be of much interest to you.”

His door slid open. She followed Thrawn armed with a quip on her tongue, but her mouth snapped shut as he moved to the side, allowing her to take in the room.

Anaya had always considered herself to be intelligent. If she could lay her hands on something it only took her a few minutes to figure out how it worked. She soaked up facts like a sponge. She was skilled at languages, digital or spoken. True, she was stubborn, proud, and impulsive, but she had worked on her own for so long her failings didn’t seem to disadvantage her in the slightest. She had thought that manipulating Thrawn would be a simple matter.

It was not until this moment she realized how dearly she had miscalculated.

Anaya had been a teenager when the Clone Wars had brought its devastation to her home planet of Coomasi. Her three older siblings, first mother and her father had perished. She had fled on a refugee ship to Alderaan with second mother and her two younger sisters. Alderaanians were strange people; sometimes they were more concerned with sharing their culture than distributing food and shelter. She had studied history, poetry, and art. Even then working with her hands had been her solace and she had spent every free moment shaping media--- stone---paint—holo into physical manifestations of her displacement and rage. She had been complemented on her use of perspective, even featured in a holofilm about talented refugees to make Alderaanians feel better about themselves. She sold a few works, but her art was a far cry from the peaceful landscapes favored by Alderaanians and she lacked the connections to gain a decent patron. Faced with an impoverished family to support, she enlisted in the Imperial Survey Corps. They had offered good money that first year.

Thrawn’s office was filled with Art. Specifically, her art. Holos were projected into the chamber, everything from her pubescent scribblings to survey landscapes she had drawn for the ISC. Her breath caught in her throat, and her vision narrowed to the piece standing to the left of his desk.

 _How? How?_ It was the actual statue. Seven feet tall… she remembered the pain in her fifteen-year-old legs, kneeling on a homemade scaffold for hours to do the upper parts. It was a portrait of her second mother done in the style of the Troig, the two-headed people of Pollilus. The left head faced upwards in as if she were about to take flight, her hair whipping around her. The other head curled into the body in anguish, gnawing on her fingernails. Second Mother had been like that, full of joy but crippled by chronic pain. She had been the one to teach Anaya to laugh even when things were at their worst. Anaya crossed the room and touched her forehead to the Statue’s marble feet then gazed into her mother’s face. Her vision blurred. _At least she wasn’t alive when I was branded a traitor._

She could not do this. Not here. Not now. She needed to remember that she had given this up. She took a deep breath and rose.

He stood behind her, so close his breath fluttered against her hair. He ignored her tears and gave her a few minutes to compose herself before he spoke. “The feeling conveyed in this piece is immense without feeling trite. A magnificent achievement, particularly considering the age at which you constructed it.”

She tried to act casual. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Admiral, why didn’t you mention you were a fan of mine?”

“I did not discover your art until after you had been transferred to this ship’s medical facilities. I particularly liked this piece and purchased it. Who is she?”

Apparently, she had spent several days or even weeks in the infirmary. She decided to give him the rest of it and see where he’d take it. “One of my mothers.”

He looked up at her mother’s face. “Indeed. I surmised this piece was about aesthetic ideals. I delight in how you used the Troig philosophy of duel personalities to portray the disparate concepts of beauty and ugliness. Thank you for the information. Until this point, I had been unable to decipher your vision of the maternal as the pinnacle of feeling and beauty.”

_Krif. Krif. Krif. Krif._

He left her side and strolled around the room. He held his arms held behind his back and analyzed each work aloud in detail. Before she had boarded the Chimaera, she had known a bit about the Grand Admiral. She had heard that he was Chiss. That he was intelligent, a brilliant tactician, but unorthodox in his methods. She had known he had a passing interest in art.  She hadn’t known he was cultured. That he would know the importance of Bothan impressionism or the influence of Huttese slime carvings on Outer Rim neo-modernism. He looked at her work and knew everything about her. Not the bullet points listed in her file, but her authentic self. It would have been less of a violation if she had stripped naked and let him peruse every flaw on her body… and the fact that he proclaimed it, openly, made her very, very afraid.

He finally reached a picture on the far side of the room. It was a sketch washed over with sepia. A bare-chested man drawn in harsh lines struggled against his chains. The angles of his arms and the defiance in his eyes suggested violence.  “This one is in your more predominant style. I like how it pays tribute to the Envisionist paintings of your home world.”

He turned his head to glance at her. “It is a study of impotence.”

“You must be unfamiliar with Kantaro’s Hero.”

The Kantaro’s _Trials_ had been written over three centuries ago. In the first act the author’s nameless Jedi hero falls madly in love and is removed from the order. His lover betrays and blinds him. In his sorrow, he loses connection to the force, and is captured and sold into slavery.

“Is it him? I thought Kantaro’s hero broke his chains.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Perhaps he is just waiting for the right time to make his move.” After divesting himself of his shackles, the Hero slaughtered his masters and escaped.

Thrawn held her stare as if he were reading a military brief tattooed on her irises. He gave her a small smile and gestured towards a small table near his desk where two covered dishes sat. “Dinner?”

A laugh rolled through her body. That Son of a Sith had actually taken her up on her offer.

“My own art gala followed by dinner.” She eased herself into the chair Thrawn held out for her. The room was dark, lit solely by the light of the holo art and their reflection on the metal walls. The table was miniscule, less than an arm’s length wide; his feet brushed hers as he folded his long body into the chair across from her. “I feel underdressed.”

He didn’t deign to answer that, but simply lifted the covers over their food. He had simple Naval Officer’s fare, bland and nutritionally balanced. She had broth with crackers. She didn’t care. She’d attack it with gusto. It would probably be the most delicious thing she had eaten in months.

“What coordinates did he give you?” She asked.

Thrawn shook his head. “Dinner first.”

Anaya smiled and shook her head in amusement. _Someone doesn’t mix business and pleasure_. She picked up her spoon.

Her fingers twisted.

Anaya stared at her hands in horror. Drops of soup spattered against the table as tremors wracked her hands. The muscles in her warped fingers hurt, but it was her chest that felt tight. This was what the Emperor had taken from her. She would have rather had a hundred more of Tashu’s cuts. She wished he had burned the other side of her head instead. The whole of her was her hands; her fingers had shaped beauty and built miracles. This was why Palpatine hadn’t bothered to kill her. It was worse for her to live ruined, and with a face like hers, where would she hide? Her façade of strength abandoned her, and a whimper escaped. She wanted to drown herself in her own soup.

Thrawn excused himself from the table and left the room.

Anaya’s eyes slid to his desk. Even with the mess of her hands it would be trivial to walk over to the console and override the entire system, but right now she just wanted to take the artwork down. She had tried for years to cauterize her heart but had failed every time. _You are dead to us_. _We will take care of the mess you created. Leave._ Her sisters had disowned her after she had turned on the Empire. The rest of her family was dead. Her friends were dead, some of them by her own hand. B-0BB was lost somewhere on this ship.

To take the artwork down would be to admit weakness, and she had already done that too much tonight. She would not take his bait. She would steel herself and recoup her losses. She would figure out how the hell to fix her hands.

After a few minutes something warm dropped over her shoulders. It was a towel.

“Thank you,” she said. She pulled it around her body and swiped at her face and clothing. “For the food as well… and about purchasing my art even though I’ll never get paid for it.” _And for giving me time to regain whatever dignity I have left._

“You are welcome.” He sat across from her. “Let us speak of the mission.”

“Did he give you coordinates?” she asked again.

“It is your own work, yet you are uninformed about our intended destination?”

“I would usually know where we’re headed, but I last worked for the Emperor three years ago. He would have sent coordinates to point me in the direction he wants, and it’s missions, not mission. We will have to get used to each other before we begin the  main project.”

“We do not need practice runs.”

 _The arrogance of this idiot_.  “From our last discussion, I have surmised that you have no idea what we are getting into. You think this is some sort of simple retrieval mission. You couldn’t be further than the truth. We must be one mind, one body. There are things out there. Things more horrible than your worst nightmare.” She forged durasteel into her voice. “If the Emperor ordered me to kill you all, I would light this ship up like Coruscant on Empire Day and not even blink, but if I have a choice I’m not willing to risk Lt. Rhyder or anyone else on this ship purely out of carelessness.”

Thrawn nodded. “Good. I am pleased you agree.”  He walked over to his desk and pushed a button on his holoprojector. A planetary map expanded above his desk. “These are the coordinates the Emperor provided.”

 _How poetic._ Of course, he would send her there. The place where everything began. She could still hear the screams. No matter, there had been worse since.

“I have something else for you. I will only allow its use under supervision.”

Thrawn placed her datapad on the desk in front of her. The screen sported a crack but would be easily fixed. She caressed it with the tips of her fingers, then turned it on. _Oh yes…_

“How far did you get into it?” She hummed happily as her fingers grazed the screen. She assumed the earlier ataxia had been triggered by certain finger configurations, so she would have to be cautious. Thankfully, she had created a system that minimized hand movement. _Hmm…yes, not time for green perpendicular, blue quadrilateral will do for now._ She raised the pitch of her hum and changed her tune. She reached out with her mind until the vibrations penetrated her and nudged **.** The circuitry inside realigned and switched on her hidden system.

“My technicians broke through your encryption on your primary system as well as your secondary drive and looked through some of your files.”

“Your staff is competent enough.” _Broke through, indeed_. She tried not to gloat. They had gotten through the first two compartmentalizations which was more that she could say for most. Her real files were accessed via virtual machines. She had designed this hardware herself and programmed everything except the superficial systems in physical, non-binary languages that she had developed from programming languages inspired by the Old Republic, when computing, namely AI, was much more advanced. Unless Gree served on this ship, which she highly doubted, there was no way they were getting into her system.

“Although I wish they wouldn’t alphabetize everything while snooping around. Ugh. Cyborg constructs.” Anaya suppressed a shudder. Cyborg programming stripped a technician of emotion, transforming them into a vessel of efficiency, to the point where it became compulsory for them to organize things and correct perceived errors. She accessed her data and dragged her fingers across the screen, transferring files to a datacard.

“You disapprove?”

“Of cyborg constructs? Of course. Anyone who would willingly do that to themselves is either ignorant or mad. I don’t appreciate anyone kriffing with my head. I’d slit the throat of anyone who tried to transform me, but then again we all know that the higher ups in the Empire are the only ones allowed a monopoly on free will.”

“You sound like a member of the rebellion.”

“I made some angry friends in Wild Space. Maybe all their talk rubbed off on me.”

“Should I return you to a detention cell?”

“No.” Silence hovered in the dimly lit space. “I’m just tired of the Empire taking everything from me without giving anything back.”

She sighed and stood up. Even at her age, it seemed like she couldn’t escape falling into the habits of a petulant child. She took the datacard out of her pad and circled his desk. She held it up. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course not,” he replied. “But I am interested enough to let this play out.”

She smirked then slid the card into his desk console. Slowly, she keyed a few commands into the console, then adjusted the holoprojector. The holos of her work blinked out and were replaced by wall carvings, frescos, holocrons. “It’s not the best, I’ve only compiled it during the last few minutes, but it’s a start to your new collection.”

He had to appreciate this. After his analysis of her work It had been easy enough to extrapolate what he did with the pieces he collected. The artifacts that decorated the perimeter of his space were not just trophies but served another purpose as tactical manuals for people or perhaps civilizations.

Her grin faded when she caught sight of his expression. His hands were steepled in front of his mouth. His red eyes studied her. His stillness set her nerves on edge. _Fine._ She would get him playing again.

She gestured around the room. “If you know an enemy and know yourself, you need not fear a hundred battles,” she quoted in Cheunh. She grinned and winked at him. “Thank you for dinner.”

His eyes glittered in the dim light. He pushed up from his chair to tower over her.

“I think it is time I take you to bed.” He took her hands in his. Compared to hers, they were cool, but there had been a definite temperature increase.

“You’re moving quickly” Anaya replied. “Though, I didn’t think you were interested in half-dead corpses.” To be honest, she wasn’t thinking much at all at the moment. Her thought process had collapsed into two points on a loop, the pale pink-grey of his mouth and his hand as it brushed light circles across her knuckles.

“You would be surprised at what piques my interest.”

She shouldn’t be this aroused, but it had been a couple years since she had been touched by anyone and her nerve endings were so sensitive she could almost hear the synapses firing. His low melodic voice hypnotized her. This was incredibly dangerous.

She liked dangerous.

“If your aesthetic judgement is this suspect, perhaps I should reevaluate my artistic talents.”

He gripped her hands tighter. The tone of his voice altered to something harsher… almost passionate. “My analysis of your art is valid. Your work is moving, dynamic, thought provoking. Do not ever think otherwise.”

Her eyes widened. She had thought this whole charade had been solely to unnerve her, but he had genuinely analyzed her work. He had asked questions, paid attention to her answers, and discussed theory.   _He’s not just a collector_. _He loves art, and he sees something of value in mine._

“Thank you,” she said simply.

He tucked her arm into the crook of his and lead her out of his office. He accommodated the length of his strides for her stumbling steps. They passed by the door leading to the Admiral’s quarters.

“Not going to show me the etchings in your bedroom? For inspirational purposes?”

“As much as I would enjoy that, I think you have had enough excitement for one night.”

“If this is your opinion of excitement, I'm glad we're skipping your bedroom.”

Thrawn cocked his head in her direction and raised an eyebrow.

She burst out laughing. "You’re right. That was horrible. Even I can't keep a straight face."

"Absolutely atrocious," he agreed.

The door slid open, and they strolled past the stormtrooper and turned into the hall. Ridiculous. Escorting a… a captive… a guest… to the infirmary? The detention block?  A trooper or even a droid escort would suffice. No one in the hall seemed to think anything was amiss. Perhaps his crew humored his odd behavior.

“Now, other than the images you provided, what did you transfer on to my desk?”

Her lips twitched. “It’s not what you think. I hope you like the surprise.”

“I notice you did not mention whether it is malicious or not.”

“I’m sure someone somewhere could misconstrue it as malicious. I don’t think you will though,” Anaya replied. “I rather hope you find it informative, perhaps even enlightening.”

“Enlightening? I look forward to it then.”

She pressed into his side to keep her balance. As they walked she felt the heat of him fade through his clothing. Even with her stumbling, and his glacial pace, it only took them a few minutes until he stopped before a room in a particularly quiet section of the ship.

“This is my stop, I guess?” Anaya said stepping towards the door. She started and almost fell at his next words:

“I would not be surprised in the slightest if you kissed me now.”

Well, she was certainly surprised, more at the tone of his voice, than the words she should have expected. “Do you _want_ me to kiss you?”

“I am simply stating that it is the obvious next step in the farce we have been conducting this evening. Since it is obvious to both of us, it is rendered unnecessary.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I do not make a habit of engaging in physical intimacy with my crew. You are uncomfortable as it is.”

“I’m not a member----What makes you think I’m uncomfortable?”

“I have deduced you are obviously inexperienced with sexual matters…”

She felt herself grow red. By this point, she probably glowed as red as his eyes. Did he think no one had ever touched her because she was that hideous? Nothing could be further from the truth. With all the things she had done to stay alive, how had he come to that conclusion?

_I wonder if he’s projecting. Only one way to find out._

Even though she knew it would hurt, she wrapped her hand in his tunic and dragged his lips down to hers. To reach him she balanced on the tips of her toes; she had to arch herself against his body to keep upright. Her hand spasmed against his chest, but she held on through the pain. He kept his arms at his sides, and tried to gentle the kiss by moving his mouth softly against hers.

As punishment, she bit his bottom lip. He hissed. His fingers skimmed up her neck and his tongue dove in and explored her mouth as if seeking some lost artifact.  His mouth tasted of toothscrub. _Toothscrub?_ When had he had time to do that? She thought back to the evening, when he had left the room to fetch a towel. She imagined brushing his teeth knowing that he would drive her to this point all along.

_You’re being paranoid. Maybe he’s just fastidious about hygiene._

For a moment she studied where his tongue concentrated... _alveolar ridge_ … _the_ _anterior palate,_ His hands traced the regular site of a neck incision. _That... That...twisted, brilliant Son of a Sith...Thankfully, he’s saving the soft palate for a second date._  Stars, the brain damage must have been severe if she was thinking this slowly.

He noticed her reticence and pulled away. A perfectly controlled expression masked his reaction. It was hard to see the dilation of his pupils, but the pulse fluttering in his throat and the slight increase in his body temperature told her he was more affected than he appeared.

 _Definitely projecting. Interesting_ **.**

"You could have just asked if I had any palate alterations, you know. And no, I don't have a vocal cord implant either."

He raised his eyebrows. "You determined that from our encounter? Impressive."

"I think you have mistaken me for one of those plebeians you normally wrestle against." Anaya smirked up at him and patted his chest right below his rank Grand Admiral's insignia. "You'll have to do better."

She should have expected his retaliation. This time he did not explore; he invaded. She was airborne within seconds, then quickly anchored by the coolness of his mouth on hers and the metal door at her back.

 _He wants a battle of wills? Fine, I'll give him one_. It would be a cold day in hell before she surrendered. She countered by winding her legs around his waist and driving her pelvis into his. Their mouths warred against each other until he slid his code cylinder from his pocket into the terminal. The door bracing her opened. His arms seized her. He marshalled her into the unlit room until they hit the bed. She toppled backwards, and he loosened his hold. She landed on the mattress, chest heaving. His body remained invisible, but his eyes blazed like beacons as they raked down her body. She probably looked like a furnace to his infrared eyes.

She heard, rather than saw his smirk as he left. “In my estimation, this evening was quite… exciting. Lieutenant Rhyder will be here at 0600 for you. Good night Anaya Talaran. Pleasant dreams.”

 


	3. Isolated Pawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the most awesome betas a person could ask for: Virgilvirgilvirgil and Lightrain-09. The second part of this chapter was hell to write. (Eli is hard for me to wrap my head around), I wouldn't have been able to finish without their support, encouragement, and suggestions.

_Her art had lied_. 

In that, at least, it resembled its creator. While she had lain unconscious in the infirmary, Thrawn had pondered over Talaran’s work for days trying to interpret the inner workings of her mind. To see if he could anticipate her actions and reactions. To discover the best method of applying stress to make her break.  

Like any artist, Talaran’s style had developed over the years. Her first pieces were skilled, yet derivative and he enjoyed the clear journey to her later work. The figures depicted in her art were usually solitary, and formed in violent, angry strokes that radiated conflict. Simultaneously, she portrayed those same figures in vibrant colors on muted backgrounds. This technique closed the figure off from their environment, through their sheer superiority. Her art that contained more than one figure, particularly those that dealt with more romantic topics, had a slightly congested, awkward feel and were some of her poorest works. 

Granted, she might have found company during the intervening years, but the nature of her servitude rendered that unlikely. Coming from a culture that was highly personable, with large families and frequent displays of affection, her work painted her as an outsider. All the pieces, regardless of age echoed with loneliness and pain, but pain that lay in strength.

After his analysis, he had naturally decided to use physical contact as his means. He had employed the tactic in the past with great success. Most, particularly those who were female, were usually discomforted, even disgusted by his proximity. She had done the opposite. After her surprise had faded, Talaran had leaned in, used him as a balance, then reciprocated his encroachment with savage enthusiasm.

She hadn't limited her retaliation to the purely physical, either.  

The imperial military had laughed his interest in art off as some quirk of an alien, or perhaps a hallmark of his culture, but the Chiss had never understood. They had thought him a fool but had stopped outwardly berating him when he produced results.  

_You cannot see… but I can._

_What? What do you see?_

The Jedi abomination, the Bendu, had seen him, but had observed some nebulous future, not the inner workings of Thrawn’s mind. Anaya Talaran had looked through him and cocked her head to the side with a private smile, as if the two of them shared a secret from the rest of the galaxy.

He wanted her… to tell him more _. Yes, what else do you see?_

In his office, Thrawn began to slow his breathing and pulse so he could no longer visualize his own heat. He had kept his mind as still as possible on the walk back, but now that he was here, bathed in the lights of the holos she had left him, his mind spun like a released top.

Talaran had wielded her mouth as a weapon. His people had no concept of kissing. He had discovered the custom after watching holovids with Vanto several years before. It had been easy enough to understand the mechanics of the act, but what he had witnessed had been a softer thing, a dance of tongues and lips. She had sought to conquer him with the sharpness of her teeth, and the heat of her… everywhere.  The experience had… It had not been unpleasant.

Thrawn opened his eyes and let the memory fade. He let his fingers slip from where they traced his mouth.

Thrawn reached for Talaran’s datapad resting beside him on his desk. The images hovering before him had not been in the data his technicians had collected. He glided his fingers over the cracked screen and found nothing. It was obvious that there lay other hidden systems or drives. What other secrets resided in her machine? He remembered her, her hands caressing the device as if it were a lover. She had hummed as she worked, but it had sounded wrong, unnatural, almost electronic, as if she had been able to focus on a smaller frequency range and amplified that. Combined with the ease with which she spoke his language, he had been certain there had been changes in her to her vocal anatomy. She had crooned between breaths as she examined the lightsaber as well.

_Even without a power source, the crystals themselves emit a low amount of energy. Some species’ hearing is within range and can pick up the sound of the vibration. It’s like a low hum, sometimes even a song._

Could there be Khyber or some similar material in her datapad? He did not know what purpose it would serve, but it was something to investigate. Perhaps it would lead to understandings of a different sort.  He paged a technician to come to his office and retrieve the device.

Now he turned to the art. Several of the items were unknown to him, but that was of little consequence. While understanding the purpose of the objects facilitated psychological analysis, all design could be disassembled into requisite components. He now needed to identify elements shared by the majority of the pieces.

Most of the items shared a limited color palette, and exhibited clean, sleek lines, with occasional geometric embellishment. Concerning the written works, the calligraphy seemed to be a more complex, ornate version of writing he had seen on artifacts from one of the Yavin moons. These motifs were not exclusive to Yavin, Thrawn had observed these patterns elsewhere. Somewhere much closer. He strolled out of his office, to a podium where earlier in the day a woman had kneeled, enraptured.  

He cradled the curved hilt of the lightsaber in his hands. To Thrawn’s knowledge, lightsabers were the purview of the Jedi. As a young man he had met a Jedi of great power and confidence, Anakin Skywalker, a man he suspected now took the name of Lord Vader. Vader openly claimed he was a Dark Lord of the Sith. Thrawn had been unable to find much on the ancient religious order, and Palpatine had been particularly reticent on the subject. Rumors circulated occasionally of other religious offshoots, but the predominance of the Jedi order, and their penchant for censorship had rendered information scarce. In one of their earlier conversations, Talaran had confirmed that the word Jedi was not synonymous with a sentient being with the ability to use to force. The Inquisitorius, Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger, the Bendu, and although she tried to imply otherwise, he suspected Anaya Talaran belonged to some complex spectrum of chaos. Thrawn considered himself not typically subject to the normal prejudices of his people, but every encounter with the unpredictable nature of the force made him feel like he was drowning in oil. That power lay beyond his comprehension. Just as the vibrations of Khyber lay beyond range of his hearing.

His fingers outlined the lightsaber’s engravings. They were very similar to the geometric patterns in the holos, but more ostentatious, as if the owner--- Talaran had further confirmed that the relationship between a wielder and his weapon was highly intimate--- had to prove their right to such decoration. Granted, this weapon was old, the so called Great Galactic War was almost 3700 years ago, but the carvings and patterns on the art she had left seemed older. A tribute perhaps? A declaration of an inheritance? He had purchased the nonfunctional lightsaber, at great cost, to understand more about the weapons used by his rebel enemies on Lothal. Until recently, it had sat in a niche on the wall to right side of his desk. It was time for it to return there.

_It’s not Jedi in origin_ , Talaran had told Lt. Rhyder. Did it belong to one of these other offshoots? Was this a Sith weapon perhaps? Was she trying to imply that Vader, and by further implication, Emperor Palpatine was his enemy?

Thrawn knew his true enemy. Opponents so powerful, so encompassing that only a combined alliance of forces might be able to push them back. Talaran herself had mentioned dark things in the Unknown Regions. For a moment, he thought she had been parroting his first words to the Emperor. The sudden suspension of all humor accompanied by the concern for the lives of his crew had convinced him otherwise.

There has been a similar set to her features when he had pulled up the coordinates provided by Emperor Palpatine. Thrawn had been surprised by the abrupt hollowness in her eyes. Her shoulders had folded inward at some imaginary blow, then she pushed them back with a resoluteness that reminded him of those solitary figures in her art. What had she seen on that planet, a planet closer to Chiss space than he would have preferred? What was awaiting her return?  

One thing was clear, the Emperor was allowing him to use all resources at his disposal for his goal, and Talaran, simply by her observations, her knowledge, her experiences was an asset worth cultivating. She spoke of them being one mind, one body. And perhaps, in time, they would be, but the mind would be Thrawn’s.

* * *

  
  


The glass walls of the conference room glittered in the blazing sun and framed the sapphire expanse of the Coperan ocean and the colonies of neon green palm trees dotting the shore below. To Eli Vanto, the room in the Safis Manor felt like the most uninviting place in the galaxy.

Some Chiss, Eli supposed, would also consider this to be hell. He had never been to the Chiss capital world, Csilla. Admiral Ar’alani had described it to him when he had first arrived: towers of ice, palaces forged from glaciers, mazes of underground tunnels to protect from the cold.

Eli would be visiting the Chiss homeworld sooner than he thought.

Syndic Mitth’eri’safis sat across the table from Eli massaging her temples. “An inquest. I thought the Csapla could be handled,” she said.

“They have been,” Syndic Mitth’esa’nuruodo’s projection replied. “They will not bring up our colonial imports. In return, we will not mention that they came into a Mitth colony, armed, without announcement or invitation.”

“Will there be an investigation about the girl?”

_At least they’re calling her a girl now._ Before, when they had been on Syhro she had been a demon. _Her name is Tiru, sister to Krel. Krel, who is dead_. The boy couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and like Eli, had been in an off limits area. Krel had decided to befriend Eli because he was kind and curious. Eli had decided to befriend Krel because he was curious about an entirely different matter.

Until he had joined the Empire, Eli had grown up climbing over crates in the family warehouse in Lysatra. Trade ran in his blood. He knew the shipping business inside and out and had helped his parents inventory cargo before he had entered primary school. Eli had accompanied the Syndics to Syhro while they oversaw a foreign trade deal. Since Syhro was a Mitth suzerain, and not officially considered a part Chiss space, import and export with outsiders was not technically illegal. Still something didn’t seem right. Eli’s knowledge of Cheunh was still shoddy, but he had the numbers down. Numbers didn’t lie. The ones on their logs did.

Eli had decided to investigate further, when he ran across Krel. From his experience, Kids had a way of letting things slip, and probably wouldn’t judge him too badly for mangling Cheunh. _And now he’s dead, because your nosy ass wanted to ask questions._

“Not if we can get our stories corroborated,” Syndic Mitth’esa’nuruodo said. “I propose we say she was discovered during routine inspection.”

“I doubt the Csapla are just going to ignore the deaths.” 

“There will probably be retribution in the future. I suspect there will soon be a request for an Aristocra to tour our colonies to conduct a census and adjust our resource allotment.”

“Hopefully it occurs after my transition.”

“You will not be transitioning.”

Anger, shock and disbelief flashed over Mitth’eri’safis’ face, but were quickly shuttered.

“They can’t refuse to promote you Aristocra after such a trivial matter,” Mitth’eri’safis scoffed.

“Mitth’pha’sitonu will be promoted to Syndic-Exarchos of Colonial District 8437.” 

“I see... And you will be promoted to Aristocra as planned.” Mitth’eri’safis’ voice held steady, but tension radiated in her shoulders and neck. “I suppose the Magistra decided I am taking the fall for this.”

“You are hosting Strategos-Imperia Vanto’eli in your home without official sanction.”

“The hosting was done at Ar’alani’s request.”

Eli sank down in his seat. He had already played a big enough part in the origin of this argument, and did not want to be the target of Mitth’eri’safis’ temper at the moment. Currently, he was being hosted by the Mitth, the Family in isolationist Chiss society that was, ironically, in charge of foreign affairs. He had been welcomed, if you could call it that, by Mitth'era’safis, the Provincial Governor of N’kib and it's two suzerains, specifically because of his family heritage.  He had been bitter about missing out on an supply position all his life, and now that he had had a taste of it, he couldn’t wait to be back with Admiral Ar’alani and the defense force.

“I know,” Mitth’esa’nuruodo replied, her voice retained the soothing tone of a lullaby. “But this is the purpose of the inquest, and we have to distance ourselves.” 

“So, your father is going to pretend he didn’t sanction Vanto’Eli’s entry into Chiss space to save face in front of the Families.”

Mitth’esa’nuruodo frowned, obviously disappointed with Mitth’eri’safis’ directness. “The Magistra is doing what is best for the Mitth.”

“All this charade presents is that we are a fractured House and that the Magistra can’t control his people. Isn’t that worse?”

Mitth’esa’nuruodo’s projection glanced at Eli. “No, it is not.”

Mitth’eri’safis turned grey. “When is the inquest?”

“Fourteen rotations.”

“I will meet you in Csaplar in five.”

“Until then.”

Mitth’eri’safis turned off the projector. Instead of exploding, she leaned back in her chair, her fingers steepled at her lips. She looked frighteningly like her uncle in that moment.

“I do not know what to do with you, Vanto’eli.”

Eli had always thought Thrawn had been typical of his species. His physical characteristics: the tall brow, the long, lithe body, were common, but the Chiss culturally lacked the drive for rapid innovation, for proactiveness that characterized Thrawn... At least in public. 

Eli had no idea what Chiss were like in private. None of them dared showed him that face.

Except one. 

Syndic Mitth'ira'safis had no qualms about sharing her feelings. 

As much as she made her hatred clear and as much as he couldn't stand her, her presence was almost comforting. He always knew where he stood with her and could trust her to always tell him things in a straightforward manner instead of in the roundabout way most upper class Chiss seemed to employ.

When he had arrived, Eli had not known Thrawn had a family. Eli supposed he should have known, most people did, but Thrawn had only ever spoken of his people, never any personal relationships. Syndic Mitth’eri’safis was the daughter of his brother Thrass, who had been missing and presumed deceased for over twenty years. Thrawn had in some way been indirectly responsible for her father's death and Mitth’eri’safis had never forgiven him.

To make matters worse Thrawn’s exile had shamed her family. Admiral Ar'alani had explained that except for a few high ranking Chiss, such as the Mitth Magistra, it was believed that Thrawn had been exiled by his people for acts of preemptive aggression against an outside force.

When the Admiral had introduced them, Mitth'ira'safis had sneered and told him he could "go back to that man with all the rest of his refuse." 

The term she had used for "man" that roughly equated to "that thing."

Ar'alani had prepared him. Eli had smiled, in the close-lipped way of the Chiss and greeted her back with proper deference.

At this point, they were beyond deference.

“You don’t have to do anything with me. Fix your own problems. I can handle myself.”

“I wish that were true.”

“I can.”

“They’re working towards your execution.”

“What?” 

She waved absently toward the holoprojector. “They’re not just skipping over my promotion. Blaming my family. The Mitth are redirecting attention on to you and your presence here, apparently now without permission. The Csapla are thirsty for blood. You are not Chiss, it is not against our laws to kill you, and frankly most of the Houses would be glad to see you gone.”

“Then send me back.” Eli wasn’t a coward by any means, but he’d be damned if he’d sit around and let himself be murdered to further some political agenda.

“I wish I could.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“You cannot leave. Ever. Our security would be compromised. Besides, where would you go? Your Empire believes you are dead.”

“What...How?” Eli’s chest collapsed as if he were falling through a black hole. _“The Empire thinks...”_ The words emerged as a wheeze. _“...I'm dead.”_ He mouthed silently.

Is that how Thrawn had passed off his disappearance? _What about my parents?_ _Do they think I’m dead too?_ The thought of the bland, emotionless notification popping up on his mother’s datapad made vomit erupt in his throat. He could see the sudden defeated slump of his mother’s shoulders, his father asking what was wrong, then his arms circling around her, holding her she sobbed. What story had Thrawn concocted? Had it been some accident? Some rebel attack?

“I see. That man did not give you an explanation or a choice before ruining your life.” Her eyes held a small bit of pity.

_No. It has to be a lie._

Of course, Thrawn had given Eli a choice. He had asked, hadn’t he? It had seemed sudden. Thrawn’s behavior had altered after the Batonn massacre. Thrawn had always had a penchant for periods of withdrawn introspection, and in his way had shown regret over the death toll, but after the confirmation of Nightswan’s death he had been more reserved than usual. After his promotion to Grand Admiral, when they had both returned from leave, Thrawn had approached him. _Help my people, Eli. Help me save the galaxy_ . _You are the only one I trust._ He had waited for Eli’s response with a closed expression as if an entire future had hinged on Eli’s decision.

Eli had known the Chiss were isolationist, but he had never thought he would be targeted for assassination, and then never allowed to go home _._ He might die if he stayed, and even his one ally, if you could call her that, would try to kill him if he left. _I’m trapped_. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

Black spots hovered in his vision. He would never again hear his father walking around their warehouse, singing along to the latest jizz single, cursing under his breath when he got the words wrong. Never see another of  his mother’s sharp smiles after cutting an amazing deal with a wholesaler.

His parents thought he was dead. If things didn’t change soon he would be.

_If one is remembered, one is never truly gone._

_Krayt spit. Even then it was all about him. Typical Thrawn. That kriffing arrogant ass._

Over the years, he had watched Thrawn twist people and circumstances into getting his way. He had shown that side to Eli even all the way back at Royal Academy. Had manipulated Eli to keep him as a what… he had thought maybe something like a protege, but after spending all those sleepless nights pouring through piles of data at Thrawn’s command… had he just been a servant? A tool?  An observer simply there to watch in awe and stroke Thrawn’s ego? Even after all the years they had spent together, Thrawn had held information from him at Batonn. Still held on to his secrets. He could trust Eli, but apparently that trust couldn’t be reciprocated. He should have expected. Should have been smarter. _He said we were friends. Is this what Chiss do to their friends?_

_I’m going to die here._

_No. This has to be a trick. One of those plans within a plan…._

He slammed the table with his fist. “Thrawn would never…”

If anything her expression grew sadder. “He would, and he has. Do you think you are the first stray he has brought home, Vanto’Eli?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thrawn internal dialogue is the most enjoyable thing to write, particularly when he's emotionally compromised. The No Chiss kisses is blatantly stolen from Virgil's story Bold Strokes which is pretty much in my top 5 Thrawn stories (two of my others faves are written by her as well, so go check them out if you haven't already.)


End file.
